


Everybody Took Everything That They Could

by yoursistercried



Series: Nobody Wears a Crown [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Microfic, escape!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoursistercried/pseuds/yoursistercried
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sandor snaps, he takes Sansa and runs, carrying her to her brother on the Wall.  Back and forth relationships, eventual SanSan.<br/>A series of super mini chapters - I promise there will be more, I just can't write enough at a time.<br/>This is my first piece, and reviews are really the only thing that convince me it's worthwhile - so thanks. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forty in the Ground

**Author's Note:**

> This is just like . . . a prologue, so it will be especially short. And when I say short, I mean SHORT.  
> This is the first fic I've ever written. Harder than I thought it would be. Props to all of you guys.

When she looked at him, the tears rushed to her eyes. It wasn't his face. Not exactly. It was what his face implied. Sansa didn't like pain. Even the implication of it. So she looked away. And because she looked away, she missed the look in his eyes, the look that meant that, for once, he wasn't thinking of fire and screaming. The look that didn't imply pain, but pleasure. Because Sansa looked away, she missed the love.  
  
When he looked at her, he couldn't help but think of her as a girl, as a silly, chirping little bird. And then he saw her breasts, slowly beginning to thrust out from her chest, and he had to look away with the guilt and the anger. Sandor had never liked feeling guilty - it was a rare enough occurrence. So he turned from her. And as he turned, he missed the way she glanced back up at him from beneath her eyelashes. The way she tried to draw him into her. The way she tried to show him that it wasn't his face. The Hound hadn't seen Sansa's face, but he would have missed the love even if he had. It was just the way he was.  
  
When she clutched at his arm, he tensed, but then threw her over his shoulder while she kicked and screamed. He had to, though. He didn’t see the love, but there was still no way Sandor would let them kill his little bird.


	2. I Told You To Be Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to people for actually bothering to read this. I know it was short, but that's kind of how they're going to come out . . .  
> I have to learn how to write more than a paragraph at a time.
> 
> Grazie :)

Sansa hurried down the hallway, desperately trying to pretend she couldn’t hear Joffrey striding after her. Even if she was taller than him, her legs longer, it wasn’t ladylike to run, and it was hard to move quickly in her dress. Sansa slowed, resigned to her fate and closed her eyes as Joffrey’s hand landed on her shoulder. As he spoke, she tried to drown him out, his voice becoming just a piercing drone in her ear. She thought of her needlework, and lemon cakes and a snarling dog. And happily occupied, by the time she understood what Joffrey was screaming at Ser Meryn, it was too late. The sword flashed at her, and then smacked at the back of her thighs, raising welts that she knew she would feel later. At a look from Joffrey, Ser Meryn bent to rip at the ties holding her dress around her and then froze, a look of confusion on his face. Sansa gaped at him, trying to pull away, and then felt herself tumbling over as the knight fell back. She stared down at Ser Meryn, blood bubbling up from his lips as the sword in his side sunk deeper. Sansa looked at Joffrey, the shock and fury clear on his face as he stared at the dog standing behind Ser Meryn, looked at Sandor, bloody sword in his hand, spoke his name, closed her eyes, and collapsed.


	3. I Was Faking The Whole Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit longer - be impressed :p

When Sansa woke, all she could see was black. And then the black got even darker.

  
When she woke for the second time, she felt herself being jostled terribly, held against a stone wall. All was still black, and then she was gone again.  
  
When Sansa woke for the third time, the blackness faded into indigo and coal and the stars appeared. She was wrapped in stone and fur and bounced with every step. As she realized the steps bouncing her were those of a horse, she closed her eyes tightly. With her eyes closed, she could hear an animal howling in the distance, and the sound of rocks tumbling underfoot. She focused harder, and could hear the wall behind her muttering softly, brokenly. A series of whispered “can’t”s and “little bird”s and curses. She tried to listen harder, to understand more, but the act of listening pulled on her, and she slipped into black once more.  
  
When Sansa woke for the fourth time, it was because she was falling from the horse, falling falling and crashing into hard arms that held her against a warm chest. She curled hard into the chest and mewled, without knowing whose chest she was cuddling. When the arms holding her tensed, and she began to move, she pressed her face into the rough cloth harder, and imagined someone who would save her. When they reached the door, the bustle of the inn broke into her ears and shocked her. Clutching at her rescuers tunic, she allowed him (for it had to be a man, to be so strong as to carry her so far) to take her up the stairs, through the doorway, and deposit her on the bed. She bounced lightly, but kept her eyes closed. He waited less than a minute before growling at her to open her eyes and look at him, damn it. She flinched at the curse, and shook her head mutely. She heard him muffle another curse and then take a step towards her. She pushed herself farther away on the bed, but as he sat down, gently reaching out and touching her leg, she allowed herself to open her eyes.  
  
As he came into view, hair dripping wet and scars facing her, Sansa looked up at Sandor, her eyes wide.  
  
“Say something, girl,” He muttered harshly.  
  
And that was when she felt the pain he had felt. And that was when she looked away. That was when he missed the love. And that was when Sandor left.


	4. Your Spine Cracks Like a Wineglass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School's almost out, but as long as I have this much work, I'm gonna hope for chapters around this long everyday.  
> That'll be my goal!  
> Here's for hoping.

There were whores downstairs. Not many, but enough to have a choice. Pretty whores. Pretty enough for Sandor. He sat down heavily on a bench, spreading his legs and gesturing at one of the girls.  
  
When a girl came up from behind, and draped herself over him, he closed his eyes, and breathed in the scent of her hair. When she moved to set herself on his lap, he opened his eyes to look at her. The shock made him stand so suddenly he almost threw her across the room.  
  
When she sat up, bracing herself against the fireplace, he saw that she wasn’t Sansa. Her hair was darker, and her skin was covered in freckles. Her breasts were bigger, her hips rounder. But even darker and dirty, her hair shone in the firelight like red gold. Her eyes were blue, with less depth, but with that same wide eyed stare. She looked up at him with Sansa’s eyes and Sansa’s hair, and a whore’s body.  
  
He wanted her.


	5. She Doesn't Deserve to be in a Place Like This, All Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - here's a note. There's a new fic I have up, connected to this one.  
> Basically, this story is rated teen+ because that's how I want it to be rated. I want it to be open to more people, and I think Sansa and Sandors relationship has to do with more than just sex.  
> However..... I think sex would be a legitimate issue for the two of them, and it is part of the story, the way I see it.  
> So I started a new fic, it's part 2 of the series and it will be outtakes of sorts. In between pieces that are too graphic for a teen rating, but a part of the story.  
> Now, there's absolutely nothing written in the outtakes that is necessary to know in order to read this fic. It doesn't add information, just another dimension of their relationship.  
> So...that's all.  
> Grazie :)

Sansa couldn't sleep. She was exhausted and she ached, more than she had ever ached before. But she couldn't sleep. She was certain it had nothing to do with the noises coming from the room next door. It had nothing to do with the creaks of her bed, or theirs.  
  
Sansa was certain that it had to something to do with her missing dog, the dog she was sure was downstairs getting drunk at that very moment.  
  
Sansa didn't like that.  
  
So she slowly raised back the fur on her bed, creeping over to the fireplace to pull on her dressing gown and a cloak over, sidling out the door and down the stairs, in hopes of finding her protector.  
  
She didn't see him.  
  
Sansa wasn't stupid. She had learned about men and honor in Kings Landing. But when the beautiful boy sitting at a table smiled at her, and called for the pretty girl to come sit with him, Sansa couldn't resist. She knew she had to, knew that the discovery of who she was would lead to both their deaths . . . But his grey eyes were stormy, and dark, and his hair was black, and hung long around his face. He wasn't nearly as large, and softer, missing the hard lines of anger and misery that ravaged Sandor's face more than the actual scars. Sansa didn't even make the connection until a serving girl spilled wine on him, and he leapt to his feet, angry curses spilling out. But once she did make the connection, she couldn't stop seeing a young Sandor, unscarred and less angry. With thoughts of Sandor in her head, Sansa retired to bed where she tossed and turned once again, finally falling asleep to the imagined whispers of "little bird."


	6. I'm Not That Desperate - Oh No, Oh God, I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry sorry sorry.  
> There has been literally nothing, and I'm totally gonna use an excuse and blame it on school and on some truly awful stuff that's been happening in my life lately. Summer (Winter) is coming, and I promise I'll try and do better.  
> I know this is tiny, but . . . at least it's something?  
> Thank you so much if you're actually reading this :)

He followed her up the stairs to her room, and she smiled at him for it, but when he tried to kiss her at the door Sansa pulled away. The way he smirked suddenly scared Sansa, and she tried to pull open the door and get into her room, but as he held it shut, his eyes darker than before, Sansa began to panic. She whimpered softly as she struggled to get out from under his hand. Sansa heard the door next to her creak and swing open and watched as a beautiful redheaded girl flounced down the stairs. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Sandor, praying for rescue. When she opened them, he was there, filling the doorway, dressed only in his breeches and staring after the whore who had left his room. Sansa was filled with a sudden heart wrenching despair, and at her cry, Sandor turned to where the young man was now groping at Sansa’s chest. In an instant, the man was gone, flying down the hallway, hitting the ground with a thud. In an instant, Sansa was free, collapsing in a heap on the ground.  
  
In an instant, she was cradled in Sandor’s arms, his murmured worries invading the warmth he was giving off.  
  
In an instant, she was safe.


	7. I Don't Think That I Can Do This Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I dropped this. I know. I know I know.  
> My greatest failing as a writer (as far as I know) is my inability to continue. I'm in a Short Story class at school, and I struggle to get to four or five pages. Continually updating a story is terrifying to me. So I don't.  
> But then today, I got a message reviewing it, saying that a certain little Lolita liked it.  
> And I felt bad. Because even if I'm not writing it for me, I should be writing it for other people.
> 
> So thanks for letting me know about that.  
> I have a lovely new schedule board, and it says WRITE under every weekday. I'm gonna make a (scary) promise here, and say that updates will arrive for at least the next three weeks. Hopefully more.
> 
> Thank you SO much to everyone who is sticking with this.
> 
> Ps- feedback is always nice, even when I've abandoned ya'll.

Sandor couldn't tell whether she was asleep or not. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep, but every once in a while her mouth twitched up, as though she were trying not to smile. Sandor hoped she was asleep. If Sansa was asleep, then Sandor wouldn't have to explain to her how he had ended up in her bed, holding her in his arms.  He didn't want to have to explain that after he had picked her up from the floor in the hallway, he had carried her into his room, settled her into his bed . . . and then edged his cup in between her lips, watched her swallow three, four, five, six times.  Sandor didn't want to explain that, in the process of helping calm Sansa down, he may have gotten her a little drunk.  Only a little though.  It wasn't the worst he had experienced - Sansa was an easy drunk, a little giggly, a little flirtatious, but mostly falling over herself.  So Sandor picked her up from the floor (again) and led Sansa back to her room.  She was adamant that she would not get into bed, not under any circumstances.  So Sandor clasped her into his arms, and threw himself down on the bed, trapping her there.  She stayed.  And that was enough for him.  Sansa stayed in her bed, and she went to sleep (maybe).  And Sandor didn't care how uncomfortable he was, because Sansa looked happy.   
  
And that was enough for him.  At least until Sandor heard the door creak open, and the whore from before was standing in the open doorway, in less than her smallclothes, light shining through from behind.  Sansa was enough for Sandor.  Almost enough.  Sandor stared at the whore a little longer.  Maybe not enough.  Sandor stared for another minute before, with a nod to the girl in the doorway, he untangled himself from Sansa's long limbs and left the bed.


	8. The Way The Whole Thing Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two?! In one night?!  
> Nah. It's just cos now I'm getting in the zone a little.  
> Grazie.

Sansa's eyes were closed. It was late, later than Sansa had ever been awake. Her eyes were closed, but she was not asleep yet. Sansa didn't think she would ever fall asleep again. Sansa was warm. In fact, Sansa was hot, burning up, overheating, wrapped in bunched up blankets. Sansa opened her eyes a peek, and then shut them quickly again. The blankets weren't blankets. Rather they were arms, giant arms. A man's arms. Sandor's arms. And then suddenly, they were gone, moving away from Sansa's body, brushing enticingly against her lower stomach before separating completely. Sansa pouted, whining softly as the warmth left her. And then Sansa peeked again, glancing from beneath her eyelashes, just in time to see Sandor push the redheaded . . . woman . . . from before up against a wall, groping at her, mauling her mouth. Sansa shut her eyes fast, but the scene continued to play out beneath her lids. Sansa tried to breathe, but only succeeded in gasping quietly, burrowing under the blankets. She listened for Sandor, and as she heard his heavy footsteps crossing the hall to her room (her room!) Sansa got up from bed, grabbed Sandor's half full bottle of wine, and crawled back under the covers, determined to sleep. Hours later, Sansa finally fell asleep, holding the bottle as she would a lover, lips parted slightly, tear tracks still fresh on her cheeks.


	9. I Was So In Love With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was my birthday, and now I can officially.... Still not be able to read some of the fics on here. Ohwell :p

When Sandor finally opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was. His head hurt. His vision blurry and strained, Sandor tried to roll to his side, but experienced some difficulty lifting his arms. How much had he drunk last night? Sandor vaguely remembered the red headed whore from before, and how she had called him from Sansa's bed. He remembered walking across the hall, a sudden tinge of guilt in his mouth at the thought of this woman in Sansa's bed. He remembered opening the door to Sansa's room, striding inside and . . . nothing. At the thought of Sansa, Sandor moved to sit up and, with an unfamiliar jolt of panic, found that he could not. Sandor stretched, craning his neck, trying to see his hands down by his side. Sandor strained his eyes, trying to see through the gloom when a sudden flame lit up the room. That was when Sandor saw the chains.


	10. Don't Come Around Here No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .......sorry.  
>  thats all.  
> :)

When Sansa woke up, she was cold. She was cold and empty and . . . alone? She looked around the room, but Sandor's massive frame was nowhere to be found. She heard laughter coming from downstairs, and closed her eyes. Of course. Of course he would leave her, leave her here all alone, just so that he could get drunk with (Sansa shuddered at the thought) that woman. Sansa opened her eyes, ready for the sobs to wrack her body all over again, but no tears came. She wrapped her arms around her body. It was cold in the room, and she fumbled for the single fur at the bottom of the bed, but came up short. She sighed. Sandor must have taken it with him to her room. The thought of Sandor in her bed made her clutch around herself tighter. Sansa laid back down on the bed, curling into a ball, teeth chattering. It was  **cold**.  She briefly considered getting up and looking for Sandor, but decided to stay in bed, and pray that he returned.  Maybe he would come back.  Maybe he could keep her warm.


	11. And All the Stars Came Crashing Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. For putting up with me. I found a little bit of a collaborator in my boyfriend, who has read the first book and watches the show (I know, I know). But he helped me come up with a lot of my soon to be plot stuff.  
> Extra thanks to Lolita--for still being willing to read this.  
> Lemme know what you think. I hope to be better, so keep watching for the next update.

Sandor’s head was pounding, the darkness around him seemingly never-ending. He sat up as quickly as he could, attempting to find a good position from which to defend himself. A light filtered in, flickering, barely illuminating his surroundings. He blinked, blinked again, but this time when he opened his eyes, a figure stood in front of him. A woman. The redheaded whore from the inn giggled at the sight of him. He growled at her, but before he could say anything, she abruptly stiffened, a small “Oh,” gracing her lips. She fell towards him, and lay still at his feet. Sandor pulled his feet towards himself in an attempt to avoid the blood; no use ruining good boots. He concentrated, calculating whether he would be able to reach the dagger in her back, finally concluding that he would never be able to reach. A noise startled him, but he concealed it, slowly, nonchalantly glaring up. In the doorway stood a far more imposing figure.  
  
“Get him moving, quick.”  
  
Sandor struggled against the men reaching for him, but found himself unable to break free as the woman who had spoken stepped forward.  
  
"Sandor Clegane. You belong to the Iron Islands now.”  
  
Sandor grunted a laugh, still struggling against his captors "You can't keep me here, you half-boiled bitch. I'll cut you all in half."  
  
It was Asha's turn to laugh, a surprisingly feminine sound. "Oh no, Hound. We don't mean to keep you."   
  
Sandor twisted harder, as she raised something above her head. Her arms fell, and as his world went black, he desperately tried to clear his head, grasping at a memory. Sansa.


	12. Knock Me Down, Tear Me Up

Sansa had been riding for weeks. She thought it had been weeks, at least.  
  
She had spent the entire day in bed, desperately waiting for Sandor to return, only to be turned out by a surly maid for not having the coin to extend her stay.  
  
She had slept outside the inn that night, among the horses, curled up in an empty stall, buried beneath the hay. Somehow a stableboy had still discovered her hiding place as the sun rose. Sansa knew the coming day would be miserable. She lurked outside the stables, waiting for her moment. It took almost five hours, but by midday the only one left was a young lad, small--the son of the innkeeper? Sansa didn't know, and she didn't care. The boy was nothing more than the opportunity she needed. She sidled into the stable, quickly glancing into the stalls closest to the door. The second stall from her contained exactly what she was looking for--an old mare, an easy ride--and she immediately moved towards it. Then, a snort and a whinny turned her head across the room. Stranger. Huffing, stomping at the ground, he glared at her, tossing his head. She winced, already imagining the difficulties she'd face with him. She couldn't take Stranger. It would be stupid--it would be suicide.  
  
Somehow, hours, days, weeks later, Sansa lay down every night, the insides of her thighs covered in bruises, next to a horse made of pure evil.


	13. I'm Alright

Sandor had been there for weeks. At least, he thought it must have been weeks. At first, he measured time by the meals he was given. One meal for one day. He marked the wall with fifteen slashes before food became scarce, and more rarely delivered. He was hungry. He was thirsty. But most of all, Sandor Clegane was angry.  
  
Asha had visited on multiple occasions since he had been imprisoned, each time to practice her carving skills a little more, and ask him about Joffrey, Tyrion, Cersei, Gregor, and so many others. She asked about Robb Stark and his movements, she asked for news of the Dothraki queen across the sea. Sandor had nothing to tell her. He knew nothing and no one. Asha continued to demand answers. However, for some reason, a reason Sandor hadn't yet puzzled out, there was only one person of import Asha didn't ask about.  
  
Asha Greyjoy had never brought up his little bird.


	14. I Hurt Myself Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't even.

Sansa was tired. She wasn't sure why, exactly. Or rather, there were many possible reasons, and she didn't know which to choose from. Three months had past since she had been abandoned. Left alone. Sansa was tired.  
  
Sansa was sore. She had been working without end ever since she had stopped at the inn for the night and stayed for what she prayed wouldn't become forever. The innkeeper was kind enough, using her to clean the rooms, serve the food, and greet the men that came for the night. He was kind enough, but Sansa knew what was coming. Coin was scarce, and she could be providing him with more if she would just establish herself in one of the rooms upstairs. But Sansa was reluctant. More than reluctant, she had stomped her foot like a child when the innkeeper had informed her of the decision she would be making. A place to stay, but only if she could provide additional services to the visitors with coin.  
  
She still dreamed of Sandor sometimes, although not as often. Not as clearly. She could still remember the clear slate of his eyes, the rasp to his voice, but she was beginning to struggle with her memory of his touch. She could barely remember how his voice would sometimes soften when he spoke to her. She was beginning to wonder if she had simply imagined some affection. Sometimes, when she woke from a dream, when it was truly dark and the only way to know she existed was to run her hands over her arms and legs, pinch at her stomach, she wondered if she had simply invented him in some fever dream. But, she always argued to herself in the dark, why would she invent someone to treat her as such? Why would she ever imagine someone who flouted her love? Why would she dream of someone who abandoned her? Why would she love him?


	15. A Drunk in a Midnight Choir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bleh

Asha spoke too loudly for the small space, her voice grating against his aching head. "Sansa Stark."

Two words, but the shock to his system made Sandor think his heart might have suddenly folded in half and stopped its beating. He had been broken for a few days now, less than a sennight, but he still managed to hold in the pained groan that he felt at the sound of her name. Suddenly sucked into his memories of the girl, Sandor couldn't remember the last time he had called her by her true name, spoken the word "Sansa." Had he ever? Or had he only referred to her as "little bird," "my little bird" when he thought of her? Would he die now having never named her aloud? 

"The Stark girl vanished from the castle, said to be at the same time as you," Asha threw at him, while jamming a foot into his broken ribs, almost playfully.

Sandor winced, but kept his mouth firmly shut, desperately trying to decide; lie, or say nothing? He was momentarily disgusted with himself, wondering when he had become a man so frightened by the prospect of pain that he would create stories to avoid it.

"Where is she, Clegane? Did you bury her? Or just leave her to rot after making your use of her? From the size of you, you probably broke the bitch in half," Asha laughed, almost leering at him.

Sandor felt another wave of disgust wash over him--he would never have taken from Sansa what she had not given freely. Although he may have been tempted a time or two. His skin crawled at the look in Asha's eyes. She would've been good enough for him before, teats round and waist nicely curved. But now, he thought he understood how Sansa had felt during the bread riots; utterly trapped, powerless, unable to fight for what belonged to him. He wondered where Sansa (how he loved the sound of her name in his head) was now. His mind and body suddenly screamed in pain--Asha had drawn a knife deep up the length of his calf, her hands nearing his upper thigh. At the same time, a clear image appeared in his mind--Sansa, held down, men lined up behind the whoreson kneeling between her legs, tears pouring down her cheeks as she cried his name.

The anguish broke through the fog clouding his mind, and in the space of a moment, Sandor pushed himself upright, leaning back against the cold stone wall.

Sandor Clegane was useless, unable to protect his little bird from the evils of the world. He had been softened into a man by his time with Sansa, his love for her.

Sandor Clegane was broken. But The Hound was still alive.


	16. A Little Bit Longer

She had thought she had more time. At least another fortnight, maybe two. She had been sneaking food from the kitchen when she could, dried meat, hard cheese, hiding them in her room. She had made a plan, and although it didn't go much past leaving the inn, Sansa had been feeling confident. She would leave with at least a sennight's worth of food, maybe more, steal a horse, and go. She had been braiding strips of an old dress together, forming a rope she was sure she could use to climb down from her window, avoiding the innkeeper's room on the lower floor. She had managed to hide a knife from the kitchen in her skirts one night, and had been emotionally preparing herself to cut her hair away. When thievery proved impossible, she had begun to put together a pair of rough breeches and a heavy shirt. She had her plan--but Sansa needed, at the very least, five more days. And now she had less than an hour.

The innkeeper's wife had come to her room that morning, bursting through the door, her daughter dragging a tub behind her. Without a word, they had tugged Sansa from her bed, stripped her, and led her to the tub. Sansa, finally pulling her thoughts together, began to question them, but the woman needed to speak only a few words to shut her up.

"We have guests. You'll start tonight."


	17. Caught in Your Tangles

He walked steadily, Asha's body discarded behind him. 

It was time to go.


End file.
